speck
of dirt on him! I’ll get the mane and tail comb and the soft brush.”
Mary was right—even with the vigorous last-minute brushing Jody gave Star’s coat, hardly a speck of dust could be raised.
And his mane and tail only needed a quick combing. Willie walked in a circle around the handsome colt, looking him over with
a practiced eye, finally nodding his approval with one reservation.
“You’re forgettin’ one thing, ain’t you?” he asked cryptically, eyeing Star’s leather lead shank as a hint.
“The saddle soap! We almost forgot!” Mary cried, retrieving the can of leather cleaner from the little tack box. “Jody, I’ll
do his lead shank, and you use the saddle soap to wipe your boots one last time, and then we’ll be ready!”
A moment later the announcer’s voice came clearly over the sound system. “The next class is class number three, yearling grooming
and showmanship. Please be ready with your yearlings at ring number one.”
“Oh no! Wait, wait, I’m almost done,” Mary cried, rushing to buff up the brown leather shank with a soft cloth. There wasn’t
time to do Jody’s boots, but they had been shined back at the barn and still looked fine. Willie stood by and observed, having
decided that the girls should get Star ready for his class on their own. Finally he interrupted their frantic last-minute
preparations.
“Alright, he looks as good as he’s ever gonna. You better git over to the ring before you miss the class altogether,” he directed.
“OK, Willie. Now, Jody, don’t forget to smile at the judge, answer all his questions, hold Star’s head up, try to square him
up the best you can, oh, and don’t be nervous,” Mary babbled breathlessly, striding along beside Jody and Star on the way
to the ring.
“Mary, I’m not nervous. Not like last time. Star will be fine,” she said, glancing proudly at the colt prancing beside her.
And Star was fine. Mary and Willie watched at ringside as Jody led him easily through the gate and to the fence rail as if he had been
showing all his life. The judge, a tall gray-haired man with a clipboard in his hand, first asked the handlers to walk their
yearlings around the ring, staying close to the rail, while he wrote down each of the numbers of the nine entrants. Willie
squinted at the number displayed on Jody’s back as she led Star past.
“I see Jody’s number is thirty-four,” he said to Mary. “Ain’t that the same number she had when she showed Lady?”
Mary looked at the number, then at Willie, and screwed up her face in thought. “I think it is, Willie!” she finally exclaimed.
“It was number thirty-four! It’s a good omen!”
“Might be a bad omen, considerin’ what happened at that show,” Willie mumbled, but Mary had turned her full attention to the
goings-on in the ring. The judge had instructed the handlers to line the yearlings up across the ring in a row facing him.
Star happened to end up third in line, but even with colts and fillies close on either side of him, he stood quietly, only
occasionally gazing curiously to his left and right. The judge gestured for the first yearling in line, a lively bay colt,
to come forward. He instructed the handler to trot the colt along the fence line to the end of the ring and then turn and
trot back again. The bay colt picked up a nice high-stepping trot going down the ring, but when the handler turned him, he
sidestepped, snorted, and flung up his head, yanking the lead shank completely from the handler’s grasp!
“Uh-oh, Willie, there he goes!” Mary exclaimed as the bay colt took off at a jouncy trot around the ring—tail up and nostrils
flaring, whinnying at the other yearlings as if to say, “Hey, I’m free! Why don’t you join me?”
The other yearlings responded by pulling on their own lead shanks and pawing the ground, some whinnying back as they watched
the judge and the handler attempt to corner the frisky
of dirt on him! I’ll get the mane and tail comb and the soft brush.”
Mary was right—even with the vigorous last-minute brushing Jody gave Star’s coat, hardly a speck of dust could be raised.
And his mane and tail only needed a quick combing. Willie walked in a circle around the handsome colt, looking him over with
a practiced eye, finally nodding his approval with one reservation.
“You’re forgettin’ one thing, ain’t you?” he asked cryptically, eyeing Star’s leather lead shank as a hint.
“The saddle soap! We almost forgot!” Mary cried, retrieving the can of leather cleaner from the little tack box. “Jody, I’ll
do his lead shank, and you use the saddle soap to wipe your boots one last time, and then we’ll be ready!”
A moment later the announcer’s voice came clearly over the sound system. “The next class is class number three, yearling grooming
and showmanship. Please be ready with your yearlings at ring number one.”
“Oh no! Wait, wait, I’m almost done,” Mary cried, rushing to buff up the brown leather shank with a soft cloth. There wasn’t
time to do Jody’s boots, but they had been shined back at the barn and still looked fine. Willie stood by and observed, having
decided that the girls should get Star ready for his class on their own. Finally he interrupted their frantic last-minute
preparations.
“Alright, he looks as good as he’s ever gonna. You better git over to the ring before you miss the class altogether,” he directed.
“OK, Willie. Now, Jody, don’t forget to smile at the judge, answer all his questions, hold Star’s head up, try to square him
up the best you can, oh, and don’t be nervous,” Mary babbled breathlessly, striding along beside Jody and Star on the way
to the ring.
“Mary, I’m not nervous. Not like last time. Star will be fine,” she said, glancing proudly at the colt prancing beside her.
And Star was fine. Mary and Willie watched at ringside as Jody led him easily through the gate and to the fence rail as if he had been
showing all his life. The judge, a tall gray-haired man with a clipboard in his hand, first asked the handlers to walk their
yearlings around the ring, staying close to the rail, while he wrote down each of the numbers of the nine entrants. Willie
squinted at the number displayed on Jody’s back as she led Star past.
“I see Jody’s number is thirty-four,” he said to Mary. “Ain’t that the same number she had when she showed Lady?”
Mary looked at the number, then at Willie, and screwed up her face in thought. “I think it is, Willie!” she finally exclaimed.
“It was number thirty-four! It’s a good omen!”
“Might be a bad omen, considerin’ what happened at that show,” Willie mumbled, but Mary had turned her full attention to the
goings-on in the ring. The judge had instructed the handlers to line the yearlings up across the ring in a row facing him.
Star happened to end up third in line, but even with colts and fillies close on either side of him, he stood quietly, only
occasionally gazing curiously to his left and right. The judge gestured for the first yearling in line, a lively bay colt,
to come forward. He instructed the handler to trot the colt along the fence line to the end of the ring and then turn and
trot back again. The bay colt picked up a nice high-stepping trot going down the ring, but when the handler turned him, he
sidestepped, snorted, and flung up his head, yanking the lead shank completely from the handler’s grasp!
“Uh-oh, Willie, there he goes!” Mary exclaimed as the bay colt took off at a jouncy trot around the ring—tail up and nostrils
flaring, whinnying at the other yearlings as if to say, “Hey, I’m free! Why don’t you join me?”
The other yearlings responded by pulling on their own lead shanks and pawing the ground, some whinnying back as they watched
the judge and the handler attempt to corner the frisky
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